


I Hunt Killers

by ClockworkCryptid



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Murder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:13:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27447673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockworkCryptid/pseuds/ClockworkCryptid
Summary: What happens when a psychiatrist brainwashes their child-patient into subconsciously identifying killers?What if that child grew into a teen with extensive knowledge of how best to end a life?And what if they grew up into a nice shy adult, as meek as a kitten?Why, you would get a killer that hunts killers of course!Without even knowing!Please enjoy this fic feat. a Reader who has subconsciously been hunting killers since her youth.With a fresh scholarship to Virginia's culinary school, and a fresh recommendation for a  new psychiatrist by the name of Doctor Lecter, what could possibly go wrong?Or right?
Relationships: Hannibal Lecter/Reader, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Reader
Comments: 42
Kudos: 264





	1. Chapter 1

“Oh yes, there will be blood.”

Saw II

  
  
  
Pavement; cool and dark- reflecting only the warm red lights that bled into the night sky. A tightening of fingers, the creek of leather, the soft growl of the engine beneath you.  
  
Carefully, slowly, you tailed the man- eyes narrowed and sharp. Your motorcycle was a slice of midnight, the lights off. You were lost in a sea of black- save for the shimmering stars above.  
  
The vehicle slowed- pulling onto the shoulder of the highway.  
  
There was nobody around. Not this late. Not this far out of the city. You stopped when he did, cutting the engine so that the only noise was the soft plip-plip of rain on the shadowed road.  
  
The driver’s door opened first- the form of a well dressed man exiting with some level of haste. A three piece suit, but heavy boots.  
Boots for hiking.  
  
Carefully, he glanced around him, before gently closing the door, and approaching the trunk.  
  
It popped, and he leaned within.  
  
Seeing he was distracted, you walked your bike aside, letting it rest in the shadows of the boughs alongside the road.  
  
You did not remove your helmet.  
  
Upon returning to the roadside you noted the man was now hoisting a blue tarp upon his shoulder.  
  
A body.  
  
The mere sight of it made your heartbeat pick up, your lips forming a flat line.  
Turning, he cast one look around- his eyes passing right over you.  
Missing the fatal shadow.  
  
With that he entered the woods, grunting as the weight upon his back shifted.  
You wondered… _Why here? What did it mean to him?_ _  
__  
_Silent boots pressed where he had already trodden.  
  
He continued on for nearly ten minutes, pausing only when he entered a clearing of sorts.  
You followed, one hand tracing the object within your front right pocket.  
  
Eagerness made your fingers tremble.  
  
Gently he placed the tarp on the ground, unwrapping what you could only describe as a beautiful corpse.  
  
A man, dressed in stylish new clothing. Young, perhaps in his twenties. You had seen them meet only a week prior.  
At a bar you had frequented.  
You knew this monster’s type. Preying upon young men. Members of the gay community who had just found themselves. Who had just begun to open their wings. Then, _he_ would step in. Show them a good time. Affection, Approval. Money. _So perfect._  
  
Until their newness, their _shine_ wore off.  
He would push the limits.  
Domination. Submission. Knife play. Blood.  
He would continue until they broke.  
  
And then…  
  
Disgust made bile rise within your throat. Especially as he caressed the young man's face. As if he had not been the one to cut his life short.  
  
It was time for the reveal.  
  
You produced the switchblade from your pocket, flicking open the blade.  
The loud _snick_ reverberating among the trees.  
  
“Someone there?” He stood up immediately.  
  
You stalked alongside the trees, allowing the branches to crack beneath your feet.  
He glanced around, trying to follow the sound, his hand fumbling for his phone.  
For a light.  
  
You approached, just as the flash of his device illuminated your leather clad form. Face obscured by your helmet.  
  
You tilted your head slightly, toying with the blade. Allowing it to twirl around in your fingers.  
He had his hands out in front of him, slowly rising from a crouch.  
  
“I-it’s not what it looks like, I- I found him, he-”  
  
His words were cut short as you lunged forward suddenly, noting the root that protruded just beyond his left heel.  
  
Instinctively he stepped back, tripping and tumbling into a shrub.  
  
You sealed the distance between you in an instant.  
Grasped his ankle, you began dragging him from it. The adrenaline made it so easy. Like manipulating a ragdoll.  
  
You raised the blade, slashing at his chest. His arms were still tangled, and he fought to remove them.  
  
Another swipe.  
  
A smile crept at the corners of your mouth. At the blood that began to trickle from it. Then another. And another. Like four claw marks upon his chest.  
  
Grabbing at a low hanging branch, he made to get up- you swiftly put an end to it- cracking your helmet into his skull with a resonating crunch.  
  
As he lay stunned, you straddled his legs- placing one hand on his forehead to keep his head down. Your wicked blade opened a line from artery to artery upon his neck, sending a sanguine arc across your visor and riding leathers.  
  
You think he tried to scream, but blood cut the words short- his cries lost in frothing gurgles. You took the opportunity to wipe the blood off on his pants.  
  
One hand struggled to keep the crimson within him, the other reached for you. As if begging for help.  
  
“You’ll find no solace in me, sweetheart.” You purred.  
  
Raising your opposing hand, you plunged it into the wound upon his throat- searching for a moment with your index finger- before finding it. His windpipe. Hooking it, you pulled backwards sharply, effectively tearing his throat out.  
  
You stood, ensuring the body stilled.  
  
Then you left. Quiet as a shade.  
  
The further you walked from the man, the further the incident bled from your mind.  
  
Like the blood that was driven off of your form by the ever intensifying rain.  
  
Striding up to your bike, you twisted the key, satisfaction filling you as it hummed to life.  
With that you turned, riding back into the night.  
Just as silently as you had entered.  
  
  
  



	2. Artisan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader meets the shrink she's been referred to.  
> He's tall, handsome, and terribly polite.

“A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other.” ― Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities  
  
  


A sigh, high and reedy.    
  
You sat within a well maintained waiting room, the chairs a plush, refined leather. Across from you stood a lamp, which seemed to do it’s best to sooth you with it’s warm light.   
  
Despite its efforts, nerves gnawed at your guts, and you found your knee bouncing.    
  
Scrolling through Twitter on your phone, you attempted to keep your mind off the task at hand.    
  


_ You just have to talk a little. It doesn’t even have to be about your anxiety. Just get a read on him.  _   
  
Dr. Ilya’s words ran through your mind, her voice a hug of reassurance. It was she who had recommended Dr. Lecter to you. Apparently she had been following his work for some time, and felt he was a good fit after you had to leave her care.    
  
In all honesty, you hoped it wasn’t. Then perhaps you could go back to the safety that was  _ her.  _ Afterall, she had been your psychiatrist since you were a child.    
  
Had you not moved to Virginia to study, you could have remained with her…   
  
Your thoughts were interrupted as the door opened.    
  
Filling the frame was a short man, heavier set, with a bit of a beard. His curly hair seemed out of place, fragmented. Though he wore fine clothes. Your eyes met his for a moment, and you offered up a smile.   
  
Before the question of  _ “Is this him?” _ could fill your mind, another man exited after him.    
  
Tall. Slender. Polished features; soft gaze. It’s contradictory. He wears a suit which appears tailored. His hair is blond and slightly obscures his forehead. You take the details within- in less than a heartbeat.    
  
“Thank you, I’ll see you again next week.” The shorter man- another patient- states. He shoots Dr. Lecter a warm smile, before nodding to you and making his exit.   
  
Dr. Lecter watches him leave, before turning his gaze to you.    
  
“Good afternoon, please, come in.” He invites.    
  
Taking a breath, you get to your feet- a soreness in your bones making the movement unsteady. You had been riding a  _ lot _ last night.   
  
“Sure, thanks.” You hum, though your voice is quiet.    
  
He holds the door for you, and you meekly pass him, pausing upon entering the room.    
It’s  _ huge.  _ And  _ beautiful.  _ Like an image out of a magazine about high society-living.    
  
You crane your neck upwards, looking at the row upon rows of books that line the shelves on the floor above. At the tall arching windows, at the ornate sculptures and large pieces of art. It’s immaculate. It’s perfect. It causes a fraction of your mind to shift. As though somewhere within you a fox has stirred. 

_   
_ For a moment your nerves are forgotten.   
And then he speaks.    
  
“It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?” Dr. Lecter muses.   
  
You are shaken from your stupor, and turn to see where he has gone.    
You didn’t even hear him move.    
Now across the room, he stands alongside a heavy mahogany desk; deftly flipping through papers.    
  
“Y-yes. It’s beautiful. ...More than I’m used to.” You admit, rubbing the back of your arm. He smiles again, seeming to take you in before looking back at his papers.    
  
In the center of the room you spy a set of chairs, which face one another, not entirely opposed- but at a bit of an angle. Near the window also seems to be some sort of lounge. You consider it, before opting for the chair closest to you.    
  
Before you can ask to sit, he gestures to your chosen seat. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”   
  
He settles into the chair opposite to it.  _ Catlike. _ His gait is smooth. His motions have grace.    
  
You sit with your knees together, hoping to keep them from shaking.    
  
“It is not often I get referrals, I must admit, I am not familiar with this… Doctor Ilya.” He states, before pausing to review the sheet of paper before him.    
  
You feel your cheeks redden.    
  
“Oh.” Was all you managed at first.    
  
“Sorry, I- Er, she spoke of you with a lot of fondness. I guess I always thought you knew one another personally.” You went on, stealing a glance at Dr. Lecter.    
  
His expression was politely neutral. The edges of his mouth tilted in a smile, seeming to encourage you to go on.    
  
_ He read your body language like a book.  _   
  
You looked to your hands, fiddling with your thumbs as you went.    
  
“It must have been more of professional admiration. She seemed very interested in your work in the field of psychiatry.” You concluded.    
  
Decidedly not looking back to him.   
  
There was a beat of silence between you, and he shifted slightly in his chair. You heard the scratching of pen on paper.    
  
“It’s humbling to hear my work has inspired another.” Dr. Lecter returned.    
  
You merely nodded, unsure of what to say.    
  
“I understand you are not from Virginia originally.” He prompted, setting his pen down with a soft  _ tap. _ _   
_ _   
_ Your gaze rose a fraction, to the notepad.    
Dr. Ilya always hated when you tried to see what she wrote.    
  
You quickly averted your gaze, instead focusing on the statue of an elk that sat on a pedestal at the wall opposite to you.    
  
It looked heavy.    
  
“I came here on a scholarship. Dr. Ilya helped me find housing, she even connected me with a part time job on the side.” You divulged.   
  
“Congratulations. That must have been a big step.” Dr. Lecter countered.    
  
“Thank you. It’s been a lot.” You admitted.   
  
“I can imagine.” Dr. Lecter hummed.    
  
Another stretch of silence.    
  
_ He must be thinking very carefully.  _ _   
_ _ Of what to say.  _ _   
_ _ Of what will make you speak.  _   
  
“It seems Dr. Ilya is a very prominent person in your life, I must admit I am surprised she has had so much intervention with a patient.”    
  
You cringed at that. Almost as though you had been admonished.    
  
“Yeah... I guess you could say we're very attached to one another. She’s been my shrink since I was a little kid. Even kept me as a patient when I grew out of the system. It’s thanks to her I got my scholarship. She always pushes me… Wants me to do better for myself. Kind of like a mother.” You sighed at that, feeling an ache of grief for the woman.    
  
You wanted to go back to her.   
To the comfort of familiarity.    
  
If only she could have come all the way here too.    
  
“It can be hard to let go of those we hold dear. But if she has sent you to me, then she must be sure you are able to move on.” Dr. Lecter stated. His tone was gentle.    
  
You closed your eyes, then took in a breath. Holding it for a moment, you opened them, letting it out as your eyes once more met his.    
  
“You’re right.”    
  
You smiled, a somewhat sad smile.    
  
“Here I’ve only just met you, and you’re already consoling me.” You laughed, shaking your head.    
  
“I’m sorry. I truly appreciate your patience.” You added, leaning back into the chair. Allowing it to support you.    
  
He mirrored your movement.   
  
_ He wants you to think he’s benign.  _

  
“I think it’s very important to ensure one’s patients are comfortable. It is hard to open up without establishing trust.” Lecter countered.    
  
You nodded in agreement.    
  
“That’s very true.”    
  
“Your scholarship, might I ask where it’s from?” Lecter began next.   
  
He was good at keeping a conversation.   
  
You felt a twinge of embarrassment that he seemed to be the one asking all the questions.   
Then again, you supposed if he were to accept you, this would become common. 

  
“Ah, it’s from Culinaria. That is- a cooking school. I’m uh, I’m fond of food… Er, The Art of Food.” You amended.    
  
Across from you Lecter straightened, his smile widening.    
  
“I see. I have a great appreciation for Culinaria. I’ve had the pleasure of hosting them a handful of times.” Lecter went on.   
  
“Oh! I- Er, that’s great! Maybe I’ll see you during my schooling.” You grinned.    
  
“I’ve always wanted to cater a dinner party. You get to see your guests expressions as soon as they’ve tried it- I love that.” You continued.    
  
“And it gives you the opportunity to try your hand at something unique. It isn’t often we are supplied with rare ingredients.” You leaned further into the chair, finding yourself bending over- as if trying to close the gap between you.   
  
“I’ve always wanted to serve a Ris de veau- with a butter reduction, and some sauteed chanterelles...” You hummed, already imagining the dish in your mind’s eye.   
  
“Sorry, this isn’t really therapy related.” You laughed, shaking your head once more.    
  
  
“It’s quite alright. I’m always happy to hear from another who is just as invested in the food world as I.” Lecter countered. His eyes seemed to watch yours very carefully, before glancing to his wrist.   
  
He frowned slightly.   
  
“Unfortunately our session is about at its end.”   
  
“Oh.” Your laughter died out, and you felt a sudden sense of disappointment, though you tried to keep it from showing on your face.    
  
  
“I’m- I think this could work, if you’ll have me.” You divulged.    
  
He stood, waiting for you to stand as well, before placing a hand on the small of your back, guiding you to the door.    
  
_ “I would be happy to.” _


	3. Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After work you pick up a shift at Bark Basket- the pet supply shop you work at part time  
> In doing so you bump into a regular.  
> His name is Will.  
> He seems nice. :)

_Ding-ding!_ _  
_ _  
_ Beyond the wall of boxes that surrounded you, a bell rang. You recognized it as the front door. Must be a customer coming in late. Sheathing the box cutter you had been using to open merchandise, you place it within your back pocket, dusting yourself off as you exit the back room.   
  
A brief wave of anxiety lapped at your feet, though it receded as you recognized a regular.   
  
“Hello.” You begin, your tone amicable. “You’re here late.”   
You offer a smile to the man milling around the shelves.   
He seems to be deeply considering your selection of dog toys.   
In his thirties perhaps, average height and build. Pale. Dark hair, curled- with facial hair.   
  
He is handsome.   
  
“Oh… Yeah. Picked up a stray on the way home, wanted to make sure he felt comfortable before I welcomed him to the family.” He returned. His eyes only met yours for a moment, before returning to the shelves.   
  
_Shy. Socially awkward, maybe._ _  
_ _Or on the spectrum?_   
  
You found it charming.   
  
You leaned against the counter. Eyeing him sheepishly.   
  
“We just got some new items in stock. I haven’t shelved them yet though. You’re welcome to take a look.” You invited.   
  
“Ah...mm, thanks.” He returned; the slight hint of a smile warming his features.   
  
“I’ll be in the back, come by when you’re done there.” With that you turned away, waving over your shoulder. You doubted he even saw. He seemed very engrossed in his decision.   
  
Prying open the box you had left, you began examining and counting the merchandise.   
You were well into the third box when you noticed the man lingering in the doorway, seeming to debate whether or not to knock on the open frame.   
  
“Find anything?” You asked, smiling once more.   
  
“Yes, well, sort of. Do you have these for small breeds?” He asked, showcasing a bone shaped squeaky toy.   
  
You purse your lips, before shaking your head. “No, those are just what’s left from last season, sorry.”   
  
He looked disappointed, but nodded his head in thanks.   
  
Making to return it to it’s home he began to leave.   
  
You spoke up.   
  
“I just got these in though, they’re soft as well. And squeak.” Pawing through the packing of the box, you tossed a small toy to him. It was shaped like a fish.   
  
Kind of.   
  
Dog toys weren’t known for their realism.   
  
The man failed to catch the object, bounding it from one hand to the other, to the floor.   
  
“She’s slippery, careful.” You laughed, approaching the till.   
  
“Aha, I see that.” He chuckled in turn.   
  
Placing the item on the counter, he seemed to dig around for his wallet. As you range him through, the soft hum of a cell phone interrupted the silence.   
  
The stranger picked it up on the second ring, his expression going from amicable to serious. His eyes are apologetic as he turns away, walking a few feet from you.   
  
You can make out the other voice on the line, just barely above the static hum of the iridescent bulbs.   
  
_“-Need your opinion. There’s been another body.”_ _  
_ _  
_ You stiffened at that.   
  
_Did he say body?_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Male, fifties…Female, twenties...”_ _  
_ _  
_ You feel a palpitation in your chest. At once your veins are filled with ice.   
  
...   
  
It’s early morning.   
Very early.   
  
Three, almost four AM.   
  
Your hands are shaking. Not from the cool night air. Not fear. But rage.   
Before you stands a man.   
Perhaps not standing.   
Swaying.   
  
He’s under the influence of something. Narcotics maybe. He’s drooling. There’s vomit on his shirt. Matted in his beard. He’s disheveled. In his left hand is a wad of cash, in his right is a pipe. And at his feet is what you can only assume is a lady of the night.   
  
Dead.   
  
Her head is concave.   
  
…   
  
_“-an attack, animalistic-”_ _  
_ _  
_ The shelving seems to fall away. You’re set upon by darkness.   
  
...   
  
You look from her narrow frame to his.   
  
“Fuck you lookin’ at!?” He slurs.   
  
Your hands clench tighter.   
  
You take a breath. Willing clarity. The distance between you is crossed in four steps.   
Your dominant hand catched the pipe as he heaves it in your direction.   
  
The momentum is strong. It stings your palms. You pull it towards you- sending him off balance.   
_Pivot._ You turn on your heel so he carries on by.   
  
It takes him a moment to catch his balance, then to orientate himself. Before he can return to face you, your heel is driving into the back of his knee.   
  
“Son of a-- a- bitch!” He spits.   
  
You kick out his other knee- this time with a sharp blow to the side. Dislocating it.   
  
He drops the pipe to catch himself, and you walk around to the front of him.   
The alleys are so quiet at night.   
  
Your gloved hands grasp the object.   
  
_Crunch!_ _  
_ _  
_ The first swing sends him to the ground. There’s fragments of teeth in a blood spray across the asphalt. You know how it will splatter. It won’t mar your clothes. The second one takes it home, gray matter speckling in an arc around his cranium like an exploded melon.   
  
You drop the pipe beside him.   
Disgusting.   
  
You don’t remember walking away.   
  
Your gloves are left in the bottom of a dumpster outside the local convenience store.

It will be picked up by the disposal before dusk.  
  
 _Another for her._   
  
…   
  
Clarity returns to you moments before the man hangs up the phone.   
You feel confused, it takes you a moment to ground yourself again.   
  
Were you dissociating?   
You pick up the fish on the counter.   
  
_Why is this..?_ _  
_ _  
_ “I’m sorry, I need to go. Can you put that on hold for me?” The stranger asks.   
“Under Will?”   
  
Before you can answer he’s out the door, hopping into his vehicle and peeling away.   
You’re left with questions.   
Holding a fish.   
  
“Sure thing, Will.” You hum softly to yourself.   
  
Your alarm nearly startles you out of your skin- reminding you to start closing up the store.   
You let the song play.   
  
_There ain’t no rest for the wicked..._


	4. Late Night Habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A near miss leaves you feeling rather... pent up. And it is with great misfortune you find that boiling over at your next appointment...

Contentment filled you, as you placed the blade in its sheath.   
  
It had been a productive day. You had just finished up classes, where you had learned knife care. It was quite on the nose, in terms of your recent activities.    
  
Who knew pork could have so many tendons.    
  
By the time you made it to your bike and suited up, the sun was setting- casting the cityline in red and gold. It was beautiful.   
  
You felt content.    
Virginia was serving you well.    
  
Weaving your way along the rather sparse roadways, you pulled off into a subsection of downtown. It was a bit ugly, perhaps worse for wear. But you liked to think it had character. There was charm in the old neon signs and the sun bleached advertisements that lay plastered on the windows. 

  
Parking your bike, you hopped off. Locking the steering wheel before removing your helmet and attaching it to your bag.    
  
There was an Italian Deli a few streets away. They had the best sandwiches. Something about the fresh baked bread really made them to-die for.    
  
Heels clicked softly on the sidewalk beneath your feet, echoing off the tall buildings that shadowed the ever dimming light. Lazily a streetlamp blinked to life, though the yellowing vibrance scarcely allowed you to see.    
  
Ahead of you a young woman walked, her back to you. She was wearing headphones. About a hundred feet in front of her, a man leaned, smoking a cigarette as he looked at his phone.    
  
Something about the two of them made your mind flicker. The falling sensation you were so akin to suddenly embracing your mind.    
  
_ Hunter. _   
  
You slid into  _ her _ mindset like a second skin. Suddenly acutely aware. Your gaze was on the man first. Breaking him down.   
  
Twenties, young, fit, slender. Asian descent, stylish. His clothes are expensive, but also well worn. He seems to value quality. Works for it. He’s wearing a hat, and his hair is messy. He’s waiting for someone. Must have been in a rush to get there.    
  
Passing you a bus approaches, pausing across the street. Your eyes are on it. The young man puts his phone away. His are too.    
  
In the same movement, the girl ahead of you snaps her gaze up.   
She’s about the same age as him. Athletic. Her hair is loose, obscuring her face. Her hands are in her pockets, but you can see the strain in her upper arm as she flexes. She’s clenching her fists. Her jaw is tight.    
  
Jealousy?   
  
The bus passes, leaving a passenger behind. She’s cute. Chubby. Her face lights up as she sees the man, and he swiftly crosses the street to meet her.   
  
They embrace.   
He has found who he was waiting for.    
The girl ahead of you turns away, she’s pretending to be looking at a sign.    
Her reflection is watching them in the glass.    
  
You slow your steps, pausing to tie your shoe.    
The pair walk away together.   
When they’re about two hundred feet away, the other follows.    
  
So do you.   
  
There’s purpose in her walk. It’s fast paced. Her legs are stiff. Even from several paces behind, you can hear the exasperation in her breath. 

  
She’s getting faster.   
The pair turns down an alley.    
  
She’s jogging.   
You keep pace.    
There is no distance gained between you.    
You round the ally twenty or so feet back.   
Just in time to see the girl come to a stop.   
  
There’s a sliver of moonlight in her hand.   
A blade?   
No…  _ A gun.  _ _  
_ _  
_ Your back presses against the wall.   
She’s starting to cry.   
A sob breaking from her.   
  
The pair finally notice something is up.    
You hold your breath.   
Taste the electricity in the air.   
  
The huntress within you is ready. Ready to take her down the moment blood is shed.   
The moment she is truly your prey.   
And then…   
  
She stops.    
As the man turns so does she.   
Tears roll down her cheeks as she sprints by. Back up the street.   
  
She couldn’t do it.   
  
The adrenalin that had gathered within you dissipates to nothing.    
You return to the street.   
  
“What was I doing again?” You wonder aloud. Then you see the sign.   
  
_ Leoni’s Fine Meats _ _  
_ _  
_ Oh, right. Dinner.   
  
  
By midnight, you’re sitting on your couch, enjoying a cannoli you had snagged for dessert. The sandwich had been great, but the pastries were truly something else. How was it they could be so flaky and so rich?    
  
It reminded you of some of the first pastries you had brought to Dr. Ilya. She was supportive of your culinary inclination- always encouraging you to try new things. All the better if you happened to bring them. In fact, it was almost tradition for you to bring something to your last session of the month.   
  
You rubbed your chin, lost in thought.    
You had a session tomorrow.   
  
Your second with Doctor Lecter.    
You expected to feel a pang of nerves but…    
  
Instead, you were almost eager.   
Your last meeting was quite pleasant, afterall.   
  
He was very charming. And refined. Handsome, but in an unconventional way.    
Attractive. He was attractive.    
_ Why was he so attractive? _   
  
It had to be that aura of assuredness. He oozed confidence. Yet not in a way that offended... It was far too controlled. Cut and measured.    
  
Unlike a person at all.   
  
Shaking your head, you tried to avoid the thoughts.   
You wouldn’t think of him that way.   
  
_ Having a crush on your shrink is weird.  _ You told yourself.    
  
Finishing off the pastry, you clambered into bed, deciding sleep would be best.   
And it was.    
For a few hours.   
  
You felt restless.   
  
Like you had unfinished business- despite running through all the things you had to do over again and again in your head. You even went out to make sure your motorcycle was put away properly.    
  
It was.   
  
_ So why do I feel so lost?  _ _  
_ _  
_ It was almost four in the morning when you finally pulled out the flour.    
“If I can’t sleep, I’ll create.” You hummed, decidedly.    
  
***   
  
That is exactly why you now sat outside Doctor Lecter’s office with tired eyes, and a container full of tarts.    
  
“Good morning. I hope you weren’t waiting long.” A curt voice, from somewhere to your left.   
Drowsy eyes turned to meet the tall and growing familiar form.    
  
“Ah, good morning.” You greeted.   
  
“You must excuse me, I usually arrive early. Unfortunately I had something come up- I should have called.” He went on, passing in front of you.   
  
As he unlocked the door, you stood. “No worries, I only got her a minute or two ago.” You replied. Standing off to the side, you ran your fingers along the edges of the container, your gaze taking in his appearance.   
  
A long coat. A three piece suit. A scarf. The palette suited the fall weather. All warm browns and reds.    
  
The knob clicked, and he entered, pausing just inside the threshold.    
  
“Come in, make yourself comfortable. I’ll just be a moment.” He stated from within.   
  
You followed. Slowly. Not wanting him to feel rushed.    
As he removed and hung his coat, you strolled to the chair you had sat previous, fingers passing over the leather.    
  
“May I take your coat?”   
  
The question caught you off guard.   
  
“Hmm?” You turned to see Doctor Lecter approaching.   
  
“Oh, sure, of course.” You unbuttoned it in one swift motion, holding the container between your knees as you did so- and handing it off.    
  
“Thank you.” You went on.   
  
You felt your cheeks beginning to darken.    
  
You retreated to the chair, pulling your knees close to your chest.    
  
“Did you have breakfast? I uh, brought pastries.” You offered, feeling embarrassed.    
  
Crossing the room, Dr. Lecter assumed his positions not far from you, reclining with a tilt of his head.   
  
“Always do. Breakfast is very important- fuels the mind.” He smiled, eyeing your expression.    
  
“Although it would be rude not to accept a gift.” His eyes were warm. His expression was kind, and yet… Your skin seemed to prickle. Just the tiniest bit.    
  
You raised your hands, waving them dismiselvy.    
  
“Oh, you don’t have to! Er, unless you _ want _ to. Uh…” You looked away, holding them to your chest as if they had committed an offense. As if simply being there was an affront.    
  
“I know it’s unusual. In fact- you probably can’t even accept stuff from patients.” You rambled.    
The anxiety you thought you had managed to stave off seemed to lap at your feet. Begging for you to stumble just a little more.    
  
“I used to do it for Dr. Ilya. She was keen on trying my cooking.” You finished, feeling sheepish.    
  
Silence hung in the air for a few moments. Painful moments. You felt your cheeks redden further.    
  
_ What were you thinking, bringing these? He isn't her. _ _  
_ _ He’s nothing like her. _ _  
_ _ You’re acting weird.  _ _  
_ _ He can see right through you. _ _  
_ _ He knows something isn’t right. _ _  
_ _ He knows you’re broken. _ _  
_ _ He- _ _  
_ _  
_ There’s a hand on your back.   
Suddenly you’re pulled out of your own mind.    
  
He’s right in front of you.    
His lips are moving, but at first you don’t hear them.   
Then you pick up on your name.    
  
“Are you alright?” His words finally make sense.    
  
You open your mouth, then close it. Nodding instead. Trying to find your voice.    
  
“Can I get you anything?” He asks next.    
  
You shake your head.    
  
“I’m sorry.” You whisper, looking away from him. Away from the concerned expression. At the wall.    
“I didn’t sleep well. When I can’t sleep sometimes I- I get lost. Dr. Ilya called it… She said I would  _ disassociate _ .”    
  
Dr. Lecter took that moment to stand, though one hand still remained just below your shoulder. It was almost as if he thought you would suddenly become lost again if he dared let go.    
  
“Do you disassociate often?” He asked.   
  
You wanted to say no. But then again…    
  
“No… But I have been more recently. Like last night… And a few days before that, the day before my first appointment…” You touched your forehead.    
  
“Maybe more. A lot of the time I don’t even know I’ve done it.” You went on. Your eyes tracked up the wall, pausing on the painting that was resting there. Your gaze did not note the image, but that which was reflected in it.   
  
Of Doctor Lecter. His sharp, contemplative profile. His watchfulness.   
  
He seemed to be taking in your words with care.    
  
“Do you recall what you were doing last night? Were you anxious?” You asked.   
  
You had to think.   
  
“I was… Downtown. On my bike. I stopped to get dinner and…” Here was where it got fuzzy.   
  
“There was a girl there, and a man. And… I think she knew him. Wanted to talk to him maybe.” You closed your eyes. Trying to see it. Trying to remember why it was important.   
  
“And then… Another girl. She got off a bus. The man met with her, and they left together.” For some reason you felt your stomach begin to knot. The images were becoming dull. Harder to see.    
  
“The one infront of me. Was jealous. She was tense. She started to follow them…” You strained at the memory. Trying to grasp it. But it seemed to dissipate between your fingers.    
  
“I- I can’t remember anymore after that.” You sighed. Resigned.    
  
“It’s alright. You did well. I’m proud of you. Reaching within oneself can be hard.” Doctor Lecter replied. His voice was soft. Contemplative.    
  
“This may be difficult, but I think if we can trace your steps back to what triggers the episodes of disassociation, we can better equip you to deal with them when they occur.” He hummed. His hand passed up to your shoulder, offering a reassuring squeeze. With that he retreated to his desk.    
  
When you glanced over to him, he was writing.    
  
“Difficult?” You repeated.    
  
He did not look up from his writing.    
  
“Yes. Your experiences seem to occur after some sort of unpleasant stimulus- a trigger- in order to uncover them, you may need to experience these traumas a second time.”    
  
You sunk further into the chair, the twisting in your guts slowly fading.    
  
“Oh.” Was all you managed.    
  
“The next time your thoughts begin to race, I want you to try and ground yourself. Take in the sounds. The smells. The sights. The texture of the things around you. If you are able to keep yourself from passing that tipping point, and then recall the incident- we may be able to prevent the episodes altogether.”    
  
As he concluded this, he returned to his prior position, but not before offering you a glass.    
  
Water.   
You took a sip.   
  
It was cold.    
  
Judging by the way he stood, you assumed the session was nearly over.   
You took out your phone.   
Past over.    
  
“I should get going.” You began, standing as you said so. “I don’t want to make you late.”   
  
“Please, take your time.” He concluded his notes, tucking them under one arm. “You’ve had quite the morning.”   
  
Tilting your head back, you downed the rest of the water.    
He took the glass from you, setting it aside as he then collected your coat.   
You tried not to look embarrassed.    
  
“Thank you.”   
  
As you reached for it, you were surprised when his hand reached back.    
“If you’re still willing to part with those, I would love to try them.” He countered, handing off your coat.   
  
“O-oh, yes, of course, sure! Here.” You failed to hide the surprise in your tone. As well as the smile that warmed your features as you handed them over.    
  
“They’re savoury. Greyer, mushroom and caramelized onion.” You added, shrugging on your clothing as you did so.    
  
“Critiques welcome.” You added, flashing a grin.    
  
“ _ Of course _ .” He returned. 


	5. Hot Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader gets an unexpected call, goes shopping, makes a new friend, gets TWO guys number, and some cool new jewelry! What a great time! Minus the drugging part, that is!

**TW: Drugging, Attempted Assault**  
  
  
  
  
Vibration, a soft hum in the front right pocket of your jacket.   
Once, twice, thrice- it isn’t a text message.   
  
Cool fingers fumble for the device for just a moment, your eyes widening a fraction in recognition.   
  
_Lizabeta Ilya_ _  
_ _  
_Doctor Ilya.  
  
Immediately you swiped across the screen, answering the call as you placed the device to your ear.   
  
“Hello?” Your voice is a question that rang out in the frosty early morning air.   
You were just getting onto your bike, hoping to get to the Farmer’s Market as they were setting up their stalls. That’s when you snagged all the best produce.   
  
“Hello, I hope I didn’t wake you.” Dr. Ilya returns. Her voice is like a warm spring breeze. It fills your chest with comfort.   
  
“No, not at all. I was just about to head out for some groceries.” You hummed, kicking the stand up on your bike. Content to sit for a moment.   
  
“Ah, being the early bird are we? Hoping for the freshest worms?” She laughed. You smiled. It felt like ages since you last heard her laugh.  
  
“You could say that.” You hummed.  
  
“So, how is Doctor Lecter treating you?” She asked in turn. Her voice is even and calm.  
You suppose it made sense she would ask.   
Even so, the question struck you as odd.  
  
“Oh, yes. We’ve been making strides in uncovering my triggers; he suspects that if we can establish what they are- we can better prevent future dissociative episodes.”  
  
“I see. I wish you well.”   
  
There’s a pause. A sense of awkwardness slowly building between you.  
It’s strange. You’ve almost always been on the same wavelength.   
  
“I see you’ve been keeping busy.” There’s a subtle shift in her tone.   
  
“Uh, yeah. I’ve got that part time job. Between classes and-” Before you can finish she cuts you off.  
  
“You know that isn’t what I mean, love.” Sour. Her voice is sour.   
  
There’s a pause, and a small part of you recoils at that. Knowing what’s about to happen. Wanting to resist.   
  
Then the phrase. Smooth and supple. Honeyed words.   
  
“Chemú byt', togó ne minovát'...”  
  
You can feel the blood draining from your face.   
The familiarity of _you_ slipping away.   
  
“Glaza boyatsya, a ruki delayut.” You retort, the corners of your mouth curling into a simple smile.   
  
“You’ve been busy.” Dr. Ilya states again.  
You nod despite knowing she cannot see you.  
  
“Yes. Two, for now.” You hum.   
  
“They said it looked like the first victim was attacked by an animal.” She went on.  
  
“I like that. It’s clever. Feral. Mystical. Tattle Crimes nicknamed the killer the Virginia Werewolf.”   
  
“You’re doing a good thing you know. They deserve it. They deserve that fear… I want you to take more. Make a name for yourself. Prove to me you’re everything I made you to be. Then maybe I can share with you why you’re _really_ there.”   
  
“I need to go. Take care, love, and be good for me.”  
  
The call ends there. And you’re left vacantly staring ahead.  
You place the device back in your pocket, kickstarting your bike.   
  
***  
  
By the time you reach the market, it’s just past six in the morning. Already, the lot is crawling with people. Displays being established in droves along the alleyways and streets. You know the path well, heading up the street, and down the next. Here- just setting up bumbled an older couple.   
  
Michael and Shawna Davis. The pair were originally from Carolina, but had moved to inherit Shawna’s late father’s farm.   
  
This you had come to know from helping them set up, happy to listen to their stories as you unloaded crates of produce from the back of their beat-up old pickup truck.   
  
“Mornin’” You greeted, taking a crate of carrots from Mr. Davis’ arms. He offered a grateful smile, his dark skin wrinkling wryly with the expression.   
  
“Morning honey, we were wondering when you might come around.” Mrs. Davis greeted, passing you by in her tidy sunflower print apron. Their cash box was tucked under one arm, a folding chair in the other. You knew better than to try and help her with them.   
  
Stubborn, she was.   
  
Spending the better chunk of an hour helping them set up, your efforts were gifted with a complementary pumpkin, along with a discount on the other produce you set aside- carrots, onions, potatoes, parsnips, beets… It was a good fall harvest.   
  
Tucked safely into a cloth bag, you offered your well-wishes, before decidedly heading out.  
Already the sun was reaching up into the morning sky, and crowds had begun to fill the streets, milling from stall to stall.   
  
The mass made you nervous, so you deftly wove through the thralls of shoppers.   
That was until you spotted a familiar head of curly brown hair, and the distinct scruff of facial hair.   
  
Will?  
  
“Hey.” You offered, touching him on the shoulder.  
  
You were surprised when the figure turned, revealing dark brown eyes. Not Will.  
  
“Hey.” The stranger greeted in turn, tilting his head to regard you quizzically.   
  
“Oh, uh, sorry. I thought you were a friend of mine.” You stumbled, feeling a rush of blood in your cheeks.   
  
He shrugged, flashing a charming smile.   
  
“Ah. No worries, it happens.” He countered. There was a pause, as he gestured to your bag.  
  
“You must’ve been here early. I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.” He went on.   
  
“Oh, yeah. I help out at the Sunflower Farm booth sometimes. Mr and Mrs Davis have the best produce.” You went on, offering a meek smile.   
  
He was charming, you had to give him that.   
  
“I also uh, just moved here recently.” You added, clipping the words short.   
  
“Oh, small world. I did too. Came from Cali. I make jewelry for that booth back there.” He gestured haphazardly to a stand a few feet away, which indeed displayed hand twisted wire jewelry.   
  
“Oh nice. That must have been quite the change. I’m surprised you didn’t stay. Seems a better place for a new entrepreneur than Virginia.” You countered, eyeing him quizzically.   
  
He was traditionally handsome, with a slightly larger nose, and deep set eyes. They were fringed with long lashes, giving him an earnest resting expression. Almost pouty.   
  
“Yeah, I like to travel. I don;t plan on staying here long, just making some money before I head to the next city. See where the roads take me.” He raised his hands at that, flashing the same charismatic grin.   
  
You noted the tendons in his arms that stretched with the movement. The tone in his arms. The thin traces of scratch marks along his wrist, just barely revealed with the movement.   
  
You pretended not to take note.   
  
“Y’know my place isn’t far from here. You should stop by. Maybe later tonight?” His eyebrows rose with the offer.  
  
You pondered it a moment. Something within you seemed magnetised. Morbidly curious about the drifter.   
“Sure, it’s a date.” You smiled in turn.   
  
Exchanging numbers, you took down _Max’s_ address, before finally leaving the now packed parking lot.   
  
Home was only a brief respite, before you had to change and head for work, leaving the produce for a later occasion.   
  
Work on the other hand, was deceptively busy. As per usual it was just you, but customers seemed to be coming in streams. You chalked it up to the stint of warm weather on the rise before a suspected cold snap. Everyone wanted to get their pet's necessities before the cold forced their hand.   
  
It was thanks to this, that you nearly missed your latest visitor entirely.   
  
_...Max?_  
  
Pale blue eyes. A distant look.  
  
Will!  
  
Swiftly finishing up with the remaining customer, you slid past the counter.  
  
“Hey, finally come to pick up that toy?” You teased, approaching him.   
He glanced up from where he stood, eyeing a selection of dog food.   
He seemed caught off guard, followed by confused, and finally embarrassed.  
  
“Oh, right.” He laughed, looking sheepish.   
  
“I’m guessing you forgot?” You laughed, leaning on the shelf next to the food.  
  
“Completely. I’ve been…” He paused, seeming to look for the words.   
  
“I haven’t slept well the past few days.” He eventually admitted.  
  
“I’m with you on that. I ended up baking all night the other day. Seemed better than staring up at the ceiling.”   
  
“Bad dreams?” He asked. As he looked to you, you noted the circles that encircled his eyes. The redness at their corners.   
  
“Something like that.” You hummed, glancing from him to the food.   
  
He seemed to search your face for a moment, his lips pursed as though he might say something else, but he seemed to think better of it. Turning away from you, he grabbed a bag, slinging it over his shoulder.   
  
Sidestepping out of his way, you followed him to the counter.   
  
“I’ll grab that toy.” You stated over your shoulder, already entering the back room.   
  
Finding the toy precisely where you left it, you halted, just shy of the door. It still had a sticky note with his name on it.  
You eyed the fish in your hands.   
  
What did he see, when he looked into your eyes?   
What had he been looking for?  
  
You shook your head, pushing past the door, and the thoughts.   
  
“So, for the food, the… treats, and the toy… That will be 47.79.” You stated, placing the additions into a bag.   
  
He paid in cash, with crumpled bills, which he awkwardly attempted to flatten.   
  
“Thanks.” He said quietly, offering a meek smile.   
  
You watched him turn, biting your lip. Feeling the weight of words you wanted to say sitting at the back of your throat. Anxiety held them back.   
  
You turned too, deciding it would be best to start closing up soon.  
  
“Y’know, if you’re just as awake as me, you’re welcome to give me a call.” A voice stated. _Will_ stated. You turned in surprise, finding him standing where you had left him.   
  
You couldn’t suppress your smile.   
  
“I wouldn’t mind that.”   
  
  
***  
  
By ten you were back on your bike, changed once more. This time in a mere t-shirt and jeans. Equipt with a leather jacket. Helmet in hand. You stood outside a rather lack-lustre apartment, in a part of town you tried best to avoid.   
  
It was later than you had hoped, but the shop had remained busy all the way up past closing. Fucking customer service.  
  
Still, you tried not to let it get you down. After all you had Will’s number.   
Oh. And a date.  
There was also the date.   
Which you were here for.  
Yes.  
  
Before you could grab your phone, you noted a figure approaching, a lit cigarette in hand.   
  
“Hey, glad you made it. Figured I would walk you up.” Max began, flashing his quintessential grin.   
  
“What a gentleman.” You teased, allowing the hand he placed on your lower back to remain. The inside of the building was just as charming as the exterior, walls yellowed with smoke and carpets thinning a grey in the middle with wear.  
  
“It’s shabby, but the price was right.” Max laughed, seeming embarrassed.  
  
“I get it.” You hummed, following him into the elevator, and out onto the fourth floor.   
Your eyes strayed up the walls, noting the cameras in each corner. You recognized the brand. And the fact that the red light that usually noted it was on, in fact, dark. Some of the mounts scarcely even still clung to the walls.  
  
Max’s apartment was much nicer than the walls that held it. Small, but nice. It opened into a corridor alongside a kitchen, which was mirrored by a living room, as well as a bathroom and bedroom.   
  
The kitchen was somewhat messy, the table cluttered with what appeared to be wires and metalwork in various stages of completion, and semi precious stones.   
  
“Don’t mind the mess. The living room is clean I swear.” He laughed. You mirrored this. “Mine isn’t much better.” You lied.   
  
Following him inside, you perused the table, eyeing some of the jewelry. What caught your attention first- was a set of what appeared to be rings, all affixed together to form a single finger, capped in a hooked nail piece not unlike a claw.   
  
You picked it up, rotating it to admire the fine wire-work.   
  
“Ah, see you found my _elven cuff armor_. Just finished off the set. Thinking I’ll start selling them in the stall. Goth chicks dig them.” He explained, laughing to himself.   
  
You set it down, following him as he entered the livingroom next.   
  
The smell met you first.  
  
 _Pizza._   
  
Hunger struck you second, like a sucker punch to the stomach.   
  
“I’m starving.” You admitted.   
  
He grinned at that.   
  
“Help yourself, I’ll get drinks.”  
  
Sitting on the couch beside you, as you pulled a stringy slice of cheesy heaven.   
He returned a few moments later with two cans of beer, which you opened and drank back greedily. Already on your second slice.   
  
The pair of you talked. And watched whatever it was he put on.   
Some sort of romance.   
  
In the silence between scenes you heard arguing, followed by a slamming door.   
Evidently the owner of the room across the hall.   
  
“There goes my only neighbor.” Max laughed.  
  
You started to think you had gotten the wrong idea about him.   
Until your head started to swim.   
  
“Hey, I’m gonna use your bathroom.” You hummed, standing on unsteady feet.  
  
“You alright?’ He asked, his voice innocent.   
  
You didn’t answer, just wandered into the washroom.  
Did he slip you something?  
You tried to trace it back.   
You had been careful with your drinks.  
  
Or had you?   
Trying to recall made you want to vomit. Everything felt heavy. Like your limbs were tugging through honey.   
  
You caught sight of yourself in the mirror. Pale. Your hair clung to your face with sweat.   
Looking into your own eyes, you felt an anger, deep within your chest.   
  
That fucker.  
You had been right all along.   
  
The rage granted you some level of clarity.   
Turning to the toilet, you forced yourself to spit up all you had eaten, until it was just bile.   
  
You rinsed your mouth, drinking handfuls of water from the tap.   
You splashed your face with the cold.   
  
There was a knock on the door.  
“You doing okay in there? I think you maybe had too much to drink.” The voice chided.   
  
Your lip curled in a snarl.  
  
You weren’t even two beers in.  
  
Approaching the door, you noted your limbs were still slow. Unsteady.  
You couldn’t fight him like this. You had to sober up from whatever he gave you a little more to stand a chance.  
  
You would have to play the part, and hope for a miracle.  
  
“Yeah, m’ okay. Think I need to lay down.” You mumbled.   
  
  
You took out your phone, wincing as you saw it was dead. Fuck. You usually plugged it in at work. But with Will being there, you had forgotten all about it.  
  
You pushed open the door.   
He caught you as you leaned into it.   
  
“Here, come to my room. You can crash there.” He invited, his tone saturated with false worry.   
You allowed yourself to be led, offering the bulk of your weight.   
  
In doing so your eyes scanned the room, noting almost everything that could be used as a weapon was conveniently away. No heavy lamps, ashtrays, glass of any kind. Practically baby proofed.   
  
His bedroom was the same, sporting a queen size bed with musty navy sheets. The walls adorned in posters and tapestries you couldn’t make out. And a heavy dresser. You noted the lines on the carpet, indicating it was often moved.   
  
Fucker.   
  
“Here, sit, I’ll get you some water.” He went on, easing you on to the mattress.   
  
“Thanks.” You slurred. Lilting to the left as he stood. You settled on your side, watching him close the door behind him. You didn’t hear the sound of the lock, but you saw the bolt interlock from the crack.   
  
The window was your first try, though it was bolted shut.   
Nightstand? Locked.   
  
Nausea filled you again for a moment, especially as you stood, crouching to look under the bed. You noted a roll of duct tape. But nothing else.   
  
Footsteps approached.   
  
Shit.   
  
You lay back on the bed, willing your legs to stop the trembling they had begun.   
  
Your heart pounded in your chest. The door creaked open, and you turned, Max backlit heavily from a bright light outside the room. Brighter than you remembered. The door closed, and you heard it click. It must lock from the outside, you noted.   
  
He set a cup on the nightstand.  
  
Plastic.   
  
“I got you some water, you should drink.” He stated.   
  
You debated telling him you felt sick.   
Instead you simply stared blankly back at him from where you lay. Your jaw slack.   
  
He smiled, running a hand through your hair.   
  
“I said you should drink.” He repeated, this time foisting a hand beneath your shoulder. Forcing you upright. You didn’t make any attempts to hold yourself up. Making him catch your weight.   
  
You saw the malice playing at the corners of his mouth. The delight in what he thought he had done.   
  
He released his grasp, watching you fall back like a ragdoll. You pretended to try and sit up again, one hand reaching feebly for him. He laughed. First only a little, then more heartily.   
  
“So easy.” He hummed, caressing your cheek. Your lips. He pressed his thumb into your mouth. You allowed it, closing your lips on him. Laughing despondently. His grin widened.   
  
“That’s my girl.” His hands roved over your body, your chest. Your belt line.   
  
It only further fueled your rage. Your hands trembled, from the drug and from the sheer anger that you kept back.   
  
Fucking pig.   
  
Getting up, he began grasping your hips. Dragging you to the edge of the bed. In turn you reached for yours. As if to undo the button of your jeans. As his eyes strayed from you for a moment, you unlatched the switchblade at your hip.   
  
You waited precisely until he had both hands on his belt, before suddenly raising your leg, and kicking in the stomach. It lacked your usual strength. But it was something.   
  
Gasping, he stumbled backwards, falling onto his ass, and rolling to one side, clutching his guts.   
  
You took your chance, scrambling to your feet and stumbling passed him. You didn’t bother looking for the key, instead jamming your knife through the crack between the frame and door. Your motor skills were way off. It took two tries just to wedge it in, and another precious few seconds fiddling twitch the bolt.   
  
Shoving the door aside, you screamed. Struggling to run. It was as if your feet had been cased in cement.   
  
“Help! Fuck, someone, help!” You yelled. Stumbling into the living room, you lost your footing, knocking your shin hard into the living room table.  
  
“You bitch!” Max spat, bearing down on you. Scrambling over the table, you struggled to balance. He grabbed your ankle, pulling you back. Rolling, you tried to kick at his face. It was weak, and he caught your other foot on the return.   
  
With both ankles in hand, he began dragging you back towards the bedroom. Your head swum, making it hard to tell up from down.   
  
Rolling hard, you dug your knife into the floor, cutting a line into the carpet before he dropped your ankles.   
  
Straddling your back, you locked in a battle over the knife. You were weakened. It was a downhill fight. As a last resort, you released the blade, instead grasping his hand- forcing the knife to fold on his fingers.   
  
He cried out in pain, just long enough for you to begin crawling away.   
This time for the kitchen.   
  
He slammed into you, tackling you from behind. You grasped for the table legs, knocking it over as he landed a sharp punch to the back of your head.  
  
Stars. You saw stars.   
  
He stood, delivering two sharp kicks to your stomach. You gasped for breath, eyes tracing the ground for anything that could save you. Tears prickled, making your vision blur.   
  
All that littered the floor was wire. You grasped for it.   
  
Rough hands rolled you onto your back, and his weight crushed your diaphragm before you could get any air in. You gagged.   
  
His eyes were wide. His hair messy and sweaty, your knife was held in his bloody right hand. He drove it downwards, aiming for your chest, but you managed to buck to the side. It avoided your torso, instead burying deep into the flesh just below your collarbone. As he did so you raised the wire, looping it behind his head, you crossed your arms, making an ‘x’. His eyes widened as he realized his mistake.   
  
A thin line of red blossomed from his throat, the razor like wire shearing through his flesh. It was his turn to gasp for air.   
  
Stumbling off of you, he rolled away, the wires scoring your flesh as they were yanked from your grasp. As he took a moment to untangle himself, you got onto your knees, one hand grasping the knife in your chest. You tried to pull it out, but found your feeble hands too weak to remove it.   
  
Max threw the wire aside, heaving for breath, blood trickling down his chest and neck. Dripping on the floor. It fueled you.   
  
Your eyes noted the cuffs, now scattered across the floor in front of you, surrounded by semi-precious stones.   
  
Four fingers ending in claws.  
  
You reached for them, slipping them on as you crawled for the door.   
  
“This is it, you fucking bitch.” Max hissed, and you saw his shadow loom from behind you. Rolling to the side, you narrowly missed the chair that splintered only inches from where your head had been.   
  
You crawled to the wall, backing up it slowly. He lunged for you, brandishing one of the chair legs.   
  
You blocked with your left arm, scoring your nails across his face with your right. He staggered back, and you slashed again. And again. And again. It all began to blur. Red.   
  
Red.   
  
All you could see was red.   
  
When clarity finally began to return to you, all you saw was _meat._   
From his throat to his loins, was simply red. Flesh torn and rendered by hand.   
  
You stood straighter. The silence suddenly deafening.   
Garbage bag.You found one in the kitchen cabinet.   
You stripped, and placed your clothes within.  
Shower.  
Until the blood was a memory in the drain.   
Pull. Until the knife is out.  
Cover. You shield your wounds from the world with his clothes. 

  
Patch. Cover the hole with gauze.   
  
You took the can you drank from.   
The blankets you laid on.   
The wire you attacked with.   
  
You wiped down the surfaces passed by your hands.   
The blood that definitively was yours.   
It would have to be enough.   
  
You pried open the window in the living room, taking the fire escape down.   
The building was quiet.   
No thoughts crossed your mind.   
  
Your head still swam, your limbs were still heavy. But they were improving.   
You hopped on your bike.   
  
And vanished into the night.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Dr. Ilya and Reader exchange a few phrases in Russian, here is what they mean!  
> *Disclaimer, I do not speak Russian at all. I just found these on website about Russian proverbs and thought they were neat. 
> 
> Chemú byt', togó ne minovát'.* "You can’t avoid that which is meant to happen" ie; Whatever shall be, will be.  
> Dr. Ilya tells Reader this to engage her "other" side. She's being ironic, because she is willing it to be regardless. 
> 
> Glaza boyatsya, a ruki delayut* "The eyes are afraid but the hands are still doing it" ie; Feel the fear and do it anyway  
> Reader says this in response. It's a mantra she used when she was still being trained, in order to get over the horrors of what she was doing. Now it's kind of an ironic statement, to mirror Dr. Ilya


	6. Midnight Rider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader tries her best to head home after the incident, but finds herself in a rather compromising situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read so far! Your comments and kudos keep me writing! Hope everyone has some very happy holidays! <3

Cracking open your visor, you let the cool air pass in through your helmet. It seemed the further you got from the apartments, the less you could recall. Despite the incident occurring only moments before, it already seemed to be fading away.    
  
Your only stop was at a dumpster off the main street, where you had tossed the trash bag. (Not before extracting your jacket, of course!)    
  
_ I need to get home. _ _   
_ _   
_ _ Fast. _ _   
_   
Your bike wobbled as you momentarily lost your balancing, forcing a quick correction. Your chest was still bleeding. More than you liked. And be it that or the drugs, you felt light headed and sluggish.    
  
You doubted you would make the journey…   
  
A phone then. That was a more reasonable goal.    
  
Currently you rode on a freeway, having taken the turn in hopes of making it back home faster. Now you regretted it. There were few stops here. Though you thought you could recall a gas station a few miles ahead…   
  
Gripping the handlebars, you continued onwards. Your vision was getting spotty. It was hard to keep your eyes on the road. Trees blurred past in the dark. The stripes dividing the lanes a hypnotic strobe of black and white.    
  
Your wound was a steady pulse of pain. You wobbled again, the sudden change causing your eyes to lurch open.   
  
You knew this time you had  _ overcorrected. _

  
Careening to the right, you felt yourself drifting in slow motion. The pavement seemed to stretch to greet you, a living entity reaching up to grasp and rend.    
  
The bike slid out to one side, sending a shower of sparks as the tank ground against the pavement. You on the other hand, felt a sudden harsh impact as the side of your knee touched first. Then your left hand, which took a heavy dose of force.    
  
Your body ragdolled with the momentum, rolling perhaps four or so times before you managed to right yourself- instead sliding on your chest for another forty or so feet. Your palms and torso were saved thanks to your leathers, along with any damage to your skull. But your legs were already aching and burning, the denim torn where flesh met ground.   
  
A wounded cry escaped you, and you barely managed to contort into a sitting position. Several minutes you spent, cataloguing your wounds. Perhaps a busted knee. Definitely broken ribs.    
  
You raised your left hand, seeing the leather scuffed. Your wrist was contorted; seeming to face a third of the way further than it should. It ached deeply, and you resolved to keep it steady instead of trying to twist it back.    
  
In addition to this, the wound below your collar was torn open again. Not to mention the road rash.    
  
You slowly limped to your bike, righting it before ambling to the side of the road. All the while tears streaked down your cheeks. From the pain. From the fear. From shock.   
  
You tried to remount, but even the act of swinging your knee over sent bolts of white hot pain into your joint.    
You tried making it a few feet sitting side-saddle, but nearly took another spill.    
  
You were certified fucked.    
Yes ma’am.    
  
You sat there for perhaps thirty minutes, putting pressure on your wounds and praying for someone to drive by.   
  
It was so dark.   
You tried your phone again, just in case. But the screen was smashed beyond recognition.    
  
All you could see in the glass was the shattered portrait of your face.    
  
Slumping against the guard rail, you resolved to wait.    
  
Nothing felt real. You weren’t sure how much time had passed, when headlights finally illuminated the road ahead.    
  
It was a big rig.   
  
Slowly you got to your feet, finding them numb with the cold. Raising your good arm, you waved it above your head with fervor.   
  
It pulled up with speed, seeming to notice you at the last moment. Breaks lurched with a hiss as the hydraulics were suddenly put to use.    
  
It came to a halt a little beyond you.    
  
A ruddy older woman rolled down the window, her blonde hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, her roots silver and brown.    
  
“Y’arlight?” She asked, leaning out the passenger side.    
  
“I wrecked on my bike, can you give me a lift to the next gas station?” You asked, approaching the window in turn.    
  
She looked you over, noting your wounds. Then your bike.    
  
“You sure you don’t want an ambulance there sweetie?” She stated instead.    
  
Something within you balked at that.   
Too many questions.   
  
“I’ll be alright. Just a lift.” You stated, against your better judgement.    
  
Fixing you with a scrutinizing look, she eventually relented.    
  
“Can do hun, let’s load up that bike.” With that she hopped from the cab, wheeling your bike to the back of her trailer. It was a flat deck, with nothing on it just yet.    
  
You limped after her, but stopped after a few feet, realizing there wasn’t a hope in hell of you being any real help. Quite frankly you were just shy of vomiting. From the pain. And the shock.    
  
You watched her lower her ramp, rolling it up before laying it on the damaged side and strapping it down.    
  
“Darla, by the way. Let me help you up.” She stated, returning as she dusted her palms off on her sweat pants.    
  
You offered your name in turn, accepting her help graciously as she eased you up the steps into the passenger seat.    
  
The heat was a blessing and a curse. The numb of the cold had also nixed some of the pain. Now it was all coming back. You felt yourself beginning to drift in and out again.    
  
“So, who do you belong to?” She asked, buckling in.    
  
“Hmm?” You turned to face her, putting your weight onto the passenger door. It felt better on your ribs that way.   
  
“Vagos? Angels?” Her eyes seemed to scan you from top to bottom.    
It took you a moment to realize she was referring to biker gangs.    
  
...Why?   
Oh. No ambulance.   
She must have assumed you refused due to some sort of record.    
  
“Nobody, now.” You lied, turning to stare out the window instead.    
  
One moment you were watching the dark passing trees. The next you were suddenly in a parking lot. A truck stop?   
  
Someone was saying your name.   
  
You turned and noted Darla, as if for the first time.    
  
“There ya are. Hey. You doin’ alright?” She questioned, she was patting the side of your face.   
  
Your head was pounding.    
  
“I’m alive.” You grunted, shifting to sit up properly.    
  
“You got someone you can call?” She asked.    
  
The thought struck you as funny, and you failed to hold back a bitter laugh.   
Did you?   
  
Not really.    
Not here.   
  
Dr. Ilya was miles away. As was your family.    
  
There was Will…   
  
You blinked.    
_ Except Will’s a cop.  _ The other piece of you hissed.   
Even so, his number was in your phone, and your phone was dead.   
  
Right.   
  
So… Dr. Lecter?    
  
You did know his number.    
Not because you sat and memorized it, but because the sequence was simple.    
  
You wondered if he really was a doctor. That would be helpful.   
Did patient confidentiality cover this? Your mind wandered, up until Darla patted your face again.    
  
“Mines outta minutes, but there’s a payphone here. C’mon.” She urged, pulling you out the drivers side.    
  
Looping your arm over her shoulder, you allowed yourself to be led inside. It was a gas station of sorts. Red coloured. Dark inside. But there was a building crouched a little ways away. It had a phone on it. And WASHROOM in big bold letters.    
  
You blinked, and suddenly you were inside, sinking against the wall nearest the phones. You held your arm to your chest, feeling the heartbeat that beat heavily from between your eyes, wrist and knee.    
  
Darla slid in a few coins.    
Who knew payphones still existed.    
  
You laughed.    
Darla shot you a worried look.    
You slunk over.   
  
Pressing the digits, you held it up to one ear.   
It smelled funny, kind of like cheese.    
  
It rang several times. Then went to the voice-mail.    
  
“Heeey.” You snickered again.    
  
“I had one of those things. Uh, diss- dissas- dissossiasive… I blacked out again. And then I crashed my bike. I’m uh- where are we?” You turned to Darla.    
  
“Flying J, off the I-95.”    
  
“Flyin’ J, off the I-95.” You repeated.    
  
“And my phone is dead. And I hurt my arm. And ripped my pants. And my knee is all bloo-” The call ended abruptly as your time ran up.   
  
“Anyone home?” Darla asked. You shook your head.   
  
“Try ‘im again.” She urged.   
You sighed, as if she had asked the world of you.   
  
_ “‘Kay.” _   
  
You dialed again as she slotted another few coins.    
  
This time it only rang once.    
  
“Hullo~” You began again.    
  
“Are you safe?” Doctor Lecter’s voice.   
  
“Yeah, my friend Darla is here.” You hummed back. 

  
“Good, stay with her. I’ll be there in…” A pause. “Twenty minutes.”   
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Are you bleeding?” He asked, his tone kurt but short.  
  
“Oh yes.”  
  
“Can you put Miss Darla on the phone?” He asked. You made a face.  
  
“I gotta ride.” You beamed, turning to Darla. She gave you a sympathetic smile.   
  
“That’s great honey.”   
  
“He wanna talk to you.” You stated next, handing over the phone. Her expression was leary, but she took it.   
  
Your legs felt stiff. You could tell they were scabbing by the tightness. You slid down the wall until you were on your butt. It smelled like piss.  
  
You turned to Darla.  
  
“It smells like piss.”  
  
She didn’t reply, just offered a knowing look.   
It sounded like she was getting instructions on something. She nodded several times in acknowledgment to the call, before hanging up.   
  
“Why don’t ya lay down honey. Let’s put your feet up.” Darla stated, crouching next to you.   
You set your boots up on the edge of the wall.   
  
“N’ your head here honey.” She patted her lap.   
  
You obliged.   
  
You faded out for a bit again. When you opened your eyes this time, you were laying flat on the ground. Someone had thrown up beside you.  
  
And there were shoes. Nice ones.   
  
Your eyes followed them up, to a man in a simple sweater and trousers.   
  
Dr. Lecter.   
  
He looked weird.  
So normal.   
  
He was fuzzy. Everything was fuzzy.   
  
He said something to Darla, and she looked down at you, nodded and rushed outside. You tried to sit up.   
  
Dark again. Dr. Lecter is undoing your jacket. _It’s cold._ You want to tell him.  
You try to push him away, but your hands are weak and clumsy. He tears your shirt from the top. Exposing your wound. You let out a noise of surprise.   
  
When did that happen?  
  
Over his shoulder you see Darla, with some sort of first aid kit.   
  
Nothingness.   
  
A hiss of pain escapes you as your arm is extended. “Fuck.” You grunt. They’re splinting your wrist.   
  
Next you are staring up at the night sky, clenched tightly to someone. So warm. He smells nice.   
_There’s so many stars out here._   
You feel small.   
  
Everything hurts.   
  
Nothing.   
  
Nothing for a while.  
  
Then a brief glimpse.   
  
You’re laying down. Above you there’s a fluorescent light. It’s so goddamn bright. It’s blotted out by a figure.   
Hannibal?  
  
He’s holding your left arm carefully. His eyes catch yours. They’re warm. He smiles.   
Your wrist is violently contorted to one side with a snap. Agony. Then white. Then black.   
  
And then…   
  
Your eyelids flutter. Warm sunlight is casting a streak through a crack in the heavy cloth curtains. It’s directly on your face. You shift, out of the way of the beam. The bed is so soft. Comfortable. The blankets are luxurious and heavy.   
  
And foreign.   
This isn’t home.  
  
You sit up suddenly, a firebrand of pain scorching across your ribs.   
  
You blink again, adjusting to the brightness.   
Your head still hurts. But it isn’t as bad.   
  
Peeling up the sheets, you note that you are dressed. But not in your clothes. They’re too large. But soft. You pull the shirt collar back. There’s a familiar wound, about four fingers above your breast. It’s bandaged over. The tightness indicates stitching.   
  
You look further, spying the grotesque purple and red mottling of deep bruising, all along your torso. You allow the collar to snap back into place.   
  
You’re in a bedroom. Not in a hospital.   
  
It’s nice. Well decorated. If it weren’t for the fact your body still ached, you would have assumed you had died and gone to bougie heaven.   
  
To your left is a nightstand, with a glass of water crowning it. The glass is beaded with moisture. You reach for it, noting your arm is now in a cast. You turn slowly, grabbing it with your other hand- despite the protest of your sore muscles.  
  
Tilting it back you drink deeply. Greedily.   
Your throat is so dry.   
  
When you set the glass down, you notice a figure entering.   
  
“You’re awake.” He smiles, his face is serene.   
  
Doctor Lecter.   
  
Surprise. Recognition. Understanding. This was his home, then. You feel the emotions colour your expression.   
  
“I-” You pause, clearing your throat. Finding your voice strained.   
  
“I don’t think my insurance covers this.” You chuckled, gesturing with one hand to the room.   
  
His smile widens, before slipping back to his usual placid expression. He approaches the curtains, pulling them open with care. It exposes a lovely view of the fall sky. He seems to take in the scene for a moment.   
  
As do you.  
He’s stained in honey, the sunlight playing off his features. He’s wearing a button up shirt and slacks. No suit jacket.   
  
He turns to you.Then crosses the room in four strides, pausing at a chair crouched by your bedside. You noticed it for the first time. It’s frame is mahogany.   
  
“I’ll be honest, these are unusual circumstances.” He sat down.   
  
“But you are my guest.” His eyes return to you.   
  
You tug the covers up. Hiding yourself. Just a little.   
It’s almost like he knows something you don’t.   
  
Your cast is pulled up to your chest. You draw your legs in so you can sit criss-cross. Offering yourself a little more stability.   
  
The image of him twisting said wrist plays over in your mind.   
He must have been resetting it.   
  
You nod instead, unsure of what to say.   
  
“Thank you seems to fall short in this situation.” You confess, laughing awkwardly. You avoid his gaze; instead looking at your hands. At the bruising along your knuckles.   
  
Silence.   
  
You can feel his gaze on you. One your face. Your eyes.   
  
He breathes deeply, settling back into the chair. Assuming his regular posture. Legs crossed at the knee.  
“I took an oath- to provide my patients with the best care. You are no exception.” He hummed.   
  
You feel… Trapped. In a sense. Albeit in a comfortable cage, with gilded bars. There is nowhere to go. Nobody to call.   
  
_The one within you realizes this._   
She’s upset, and her disapproval is yours.   
  
You shake your head, dislodging the thoughts. It causes a wave of nausea. Though it quickly subsides.   
  
“What uh, what happened?” You ask, turning, finally.   
  
He stifles a chuckle.   
  
“That’s something I was hoping you could tell me.”   
  
You nod.   
  
“Maybe we can fill in the gaps together.” You return. You place a hand on your stomach, feeling empty. Hungry.   
  
Dr. Lecter notes this.   
  
“Perhaps over breakfast?” He stands.  
  
“The restroom is there, and the kitchen down the hall to the right. I’ve left your belongings on the end table.”   
  
With that he leaves, and you’re left sitting up in bed.   
  
Alone once more.   
  
  
  
  



	7. Pancetta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader shares a lovely breakfast with our dear Hannibal (◕ㅅ◕✿)

  
Sitting up requires more energy than you’re willing to give, but you manage to slowly get to your feet. Everything hurts. Your joints are sore, as are your muscles. As if down to the bone. You feel stiff. Stretching, you try to ignore the pops and cracks that emanate from your frame.    
  
Upon standing, you can see the end table Dr. Lecter mentioned. It’s just below the window. You limp to it, shuffling through the clothing. None of it looks familiar. Nothing besides your jacket and helmet. Some of the clothes are damaged, ripped in places. They appear to have been washed. You have no interest in wearing them.    
  
The contents of your pockets are also on the table- including your wallet, keys, headphones, pocket knife, and a set of some very familiar jewelry. Claw shaped.    
  
_ Red. Hands rending and tearing flesh.  _   
  
You blink at the sudden wave of recognition. Then unease. 

  
_ Did I hurt someone?  _   
  
You wonder for a moment. Then push the thought aside. You spy your phone. It's attached to a charge cord, though the screen remains dark- shattered beyond recognition. You place it in the pocket of the foreign clothing you wear.   
  
Slowly you move on to the washroom, noting the deep marble sinks. It’s modern, but chique. Expensive. Beautiful.    
  
Your reflection is less so.   
Pale, gaunt. Your eyes are bloodshot. Your hair is messy and oily.    
You take advantage of the toiletries provided, doing your best to repair yourself.    
  
You leave feeling refreshed. And marginally cleaner.    
  
You enter the kitchen without offering a word. Pausing in the shadow of the hallway to simply observe.    
  
At the center stood a stainless steel countertop, commanding the attention of the room like a stage. Behind it set into the wall stood a large refrigerator, twinned by the duel ovens. Set to one side was a curious blocky wooden stand, with which you assumed housed another chef when required- or offered extended counter space.    
  
Even from where you stood you could spy the signature silhouette of a knife block, the curved handles indicating they were expensive- likely Japanese and terribly beautiful.    
  
Scents of course also met your features- that of sizzling cured meats that seemed just a little too rich to be bacon. Perhaps a more homemade approach?    
  
Lingering where you stood, you were disarmed by the warm smile Dr. Lecter now offered you. Feeling your cheeks flush, you begrudgingly proceeded further, hovering a few feet from the center island.    
  
He was briskly stirring together what you soon realized was eggs. Hidden deep within a rather tall pot, he seemed to be swiftly stirring them with a rubber spatula.    
  
It struck you as curious at first, though you soon realized why.    
  
Constant motion kept them airy. Tempering them on and off the heat kept the mixture from cooking to swiftly or getting watery. The pot allowed swift motion without mess. It was smart.    
  
You found yourself leaning upon the counter, noting his motions with exacting precision.    
  
Straying from the eggs, you viewed the meat, which appeared to be a homemade variety of pancetta, cubed and sizzling away. Aromatic in its rich smokey scent.    
  
It was darkening swiftly. Though Dr. Lecter seemed unphased.    
  
“I wasn’t aware you cured your own meat.” You hummed, crossing the threshold and taking up the wooden spoon that lay forlornly beside the skillet. Pushing the cubes around. It was second nature, to continue what someone else had begun. Learned from your days in school.    
  
“I am very careful about what I put into my body. As such I often find myself partaking in new forms of cooking. In this case,” He gestured to the meat. “Curing.”    
  
You smirked at that, glancing over to see he was nearly finished with the scramble. Spying a custard dish topped with creme fresh, you nudged it within grasp.    
  
“Do you have chives?” You asked, not looking up from your task, instead taking care to lower the heat, and move the pan onto a cool burner.   
  
He did not speak this time, instead gesturing behind you, to the counter on your left. There was a small basket, bristling with various herbs. Home grown.    
  
You took a moment to wash your hands.   
  
Grasping a handful of chives, and meditated briefly over the knife block- before choosing one.  _ Yoshihiro. _ A chef knife. Good for chopping. Heavily weighted. A beautiful and cunningly sharp knife.    
  
You could see your own reflection in the pristine steel. Focused. But tired, bruised.    
You turned, finding a wooden cutting board already in place.    
  
Swiftly chopping them into fine pieces you held them to the blade, dropping them into the pot Dr. Lecter extended.    
  
It smelled divine.    
  
As the cooking concluded, you stiffened, realizing you had just imposed.    
  
A moment later, you realized his neglect of the pancetta was probably intentional. He wanted to see you work. Had hoped you would loosen up.   
  
It worked.    
  
Taking the cutting board and knife to the sink, you washed them carefully by hand. Acutely aware of Dr. lecter moving independently behind you.    
  
“Come, join me in the dining room.” He invited, already stepping away as you turned.    
  
Stiffly you did so, your hands knotting in front of you.    
  
You were greeted by a tremendously long table, likely able to seat more than ten. One side was already set, two seats at the nearest end. Sat across from one another. Between the plates stood a beautiful balancing syphon. That is- a very nice and very old coffee maker.    
  
It was already brewing, with one steaming cup opposite to what you assumed was your place. He gestured to it in confirmation, and you merely nodded, taking a seat.    
  
Placing a plate before you, your senses were treated to that of some rich, creamy scrambled eggs. Dotted with both pancetta and chives, all perched atop a thick, toasted slice of what appeared to be homemade sourdough bread. Beside that was a side of cherry tomatoes, scorched upon the bottom, and two mushrooms- delicately poached.    
  
“It looks delicious.” You commented. Unsure of where to start.    
  
“I should hope so.” Dr. Lecter chuckled, glancing over to you as he poured himself a cup of coffee.    
  
Grasping the glass already before you, you took in the aroma- finding the coffee holding notes of hazelnut, and perhaps even chocolate. Rich and sweet, but also subtle.    
  
“Thank you, Dr. Lecter.” You said quietly, mostly into the cup.    
  
It tasted as good as it smelled, albeit very hot.    
  
“Hannibal,” he corrected, causing you to steal a look in his direction- through the steam of the coffee. “Office hours are for patients, but my kitchen is for friends.” He finished.    
  
You nodded to that. “Right…”    
  
_ Hannibal. _   
  
You did not look up from your plate as you dined, though you could feel his eyes upon you. Watching with interest.    
  
Delicious. Rich and creamy. The eggs were perfectly seasoned and delightfully fluffy. The crisp and slight sour notes of the bread cut through the richness, offering a place for the salty and herbal pancetta to shine. It’s flavour was both full and unique.    
  
“The pancetta- it’s delicious. I don’t think I’ve ever had pork like this.” You stated, finally glancing up. Breaking the silence. He was smiling, fully now.    
  
His eyes are almost coy.    
  
“I’m glad it’s to your tastes.” He returned.    
  
For a few moments the pair of you dined in silence. You were afraid to breach the calm. Unsure of when he would ask his questions- the ones he had so ominously alluded to before. It was in this lapse of time that you thought to your boss. And your teacher. They would be wondering where you were. You ought to contact them.   
  
“Doc- er,  _ Hannibal _ . May I borrow your phone? I should call my boss.” You said quietly. Pushing the remaining food on your plate around as you waited for an answer. Eating it suddenly before he spoke. 

  
“Of course.” He returned.    
  
That was all.    
  
You realized he had been waiting on you to finish.   
Another flush of embarrassment reddened your face.    
  
“Allow me to take your plate.” He offered, stacking up the dishes.    
  
You relented, though, much like a puppy, shadowed him as he returned to the kitchen.    
  
“I can dry.” You ventured, as he began running the water once more.    
  
Before he could speak, you shook your head.   
  
“I insist. You’ve been more than gracious. I want to return at least  _ some _ of the favour.”    
  
_ Besides. I don’t want to stand around in silence.  _   
  
He merely nodded, beginning to methodically wash away at the elegant dishware.   
  
You found yourself working in tandem with him once more.    
  
“You were rather far from home last night.” His voice broke the hypnotic motion you had picked up of rinsing and drying.    
  
“Yeah.” You agreed.   
  
“I understand your memory is… incomplete. What do you recall earliest? Is the morning clear?” He asked, not looking up from his busywork.    
  
You stopped for a moment, thinking back on it.   
  
“I do recall the morning. I had… gotten a call from Dr. Ilya. She wanted to check up on me.” You hummed, finding the thought somewhat hazy.   
  
“I took my bike to the farmer’s market downtown. I know the owners of one of the stalls. I always pick up some of their produce before the crowd gets there, y’know help them set up n’ stuff too.” You continued. This was clearer, you could picture it.    
  
Hannibal did not comment, instead allowing you to follow the passage of thought. You resumed drying.    
  
“I left a bit late. And- I thought I saw someone I knew. He’s uh, a regular at my work.” You thought back to Will. Then his look-alike.    
  
Your hands began to tremble as you recalled his face. His black eyes.    
  
“But it was someone else. His name… Uh…” Your eyebrows furrowed with thought. “M-Max? I think it was Max. He spoke with me for a while. And we made plans for that evening.” You set the dish you had dried aside.   
  
Unease seemed to bubble within your guts as you went on.    
  
“I went home. Then to work. Then back home? I think? Then I drove out to his apartment.” There was a stab of pain in your skull, and you paused again. This time you closed your eyes. Willing the fog away.    
  
“W-we uh, we ate together, and... I started to feel sick. I think… Maybe I blacked out?” Your eyebrows furrowed further. You felt your hands gripping the edge of the counter.    
  
The pain seemed to push against your skull. Against your eyes. Aching. A ringing began in your ears. You recalled your own fear. And pain. Panic. Violence.   
  
You stepped back from the sink, leaning against the stainless steel island.    
  
“I’m... maybe he drugged me. I don’t remember leaving.” You went on. Trying to move beyond the scene. Past the swamp of darkness.    
  
“I remember glimpses of driving. My phone had died. I couldn’t call anyone. I remember trying to get home quickly. That’s why I took the highway. But I wasn’t right. I lost my balance, and I rolled my bike.” You instinctively held your broken wrist, feeling the pain of your crash again.   
  
It ached now, your arm. Worse than it had all morning.    
  
“Then the driver found you.” Hannibal supplied. He was beside you now. You could feel his presence. His hand was on your back. Seemingly ready to catch you if you fell again.    
  
“And I called… You.” You finished. A few moments passed as you stood in silence, regaining your balance.    
  
You opened your eyes as you felt him move away.    
  
“You were in bad shape, when I arrived. You had lost a lot of blood. In fact, upon returning you were in need of a transfusion. Your wrist also needed to be reset. As it was broken quite terribly out of place. I had concerns you may have sustained cranial damage. But I saw no signs of trauma to your skull.” He went on. “You were unconscious for more than a day, actually.” He added, causing your eyes to widen.    
  
Shit.    
  
_ My boss is gonna be pissed.  _ _   
_ _   
_ You opened your mouth, then closed it, unsure of what to say.   
  
He turned away, leaving the room for a moment as you merely looked after him in stunned silence.    
  
A moment later he returned, cell phone in hand.    
  
“I’ll finish tidying up. You may use this.” He extended it to you.   
Taking it cautiously, you found it unlocked.    
  
Dialing your boss, you quickly ran off back to the dining room.    
  
***   
  
It took the better part of an hour to get into contact with your boss, insurance, and school. Thankfully both your boss and teachers were simply happy to hear from you- though the insurance for your bike promised to be a headache for later.    
  
Hannibal re-entered the room just as you were finishing up with said phone call, now dressed in his usual formalwear. You realized he was likely intending on leaving.    
  
“You’ve been more than generous,” You offered him back his phone. “But could I bother you for a ride?” You asked, offering an uneasy smile.    
  
He nodded curtly, gesturing ahead of himself.   
  
“Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday! Sorry It's been a while, just had some trouble getting back into the writing headspace. Please enjoy, and thank you again for all your sweet comments and kudos! <3


	8. Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader is very tired, and gives a little someone a call.

Two weeks.   
  
It had been two weeks since your accident, and the unusual arrival of your white knight Hannibal Lecter.    
In the time since you had been suspended from Culinary School- seeing as you weren’t dexterous enough to operate utensils or able to get your cast anywhere near wet.    
  
So much for that dream.    
You tried not to be bitter- after all they had offered a discount if you wanted to take the course again. Not to mention your motorcycle was still being repaired.   
  
On the bright side...   
  
Your phone had been fixed.   
New model too.    
  
And- you were clocking major hours at the Pet Store.    
  
Despite all this, there was a distinct feeling of malcontent in your gut. A pent up energy just waiting to be extended. Only exacerbated by your limitations.    
  
You needed to get out. To go somewhere. Away from here. Somewhere new. Fresh.    
  
It was as you pondered this your phone lit up, casting the blackened room in bright bluish light.    
Who was calling now? It had to be almost three in the morning.   
  
Rolling onto your stomach, you reached for the device- squinting at the bright name that illuminated your features.   
  
Will.   
  
You answered on the fourth ring.    
  
“Heh, good morning.” You hummed, your voice hoarse.   
  
“‘Morning, did I wake you?” The voice on the other line murmured. His tone was rich but strained. Exhausted.    
  
“No, though you did interrupt my routine of staring up at the ceiling.” You retorted, rolling back onto your back.    
  
“Oh, sounds important, I could always call you back.” Will jested, and your lips cracked into a smile they hadn’t held in a while.    
“I think I appreciate the company more.” You returned. There was silence opposite to you for a moment, and you could easily picture him running a hand through his hair. Flustered.    
  
The two of you talked for almost an hour. It was now you reminisced about your bike trips through the mountains. How you used to stop on the side of the highway and pick a spot to camp. Making an event of hiking around and getting good and lost before returning to the paved path.    
  
“Ever go fishing?” Will questioned, the ask hanging in the air for a moment.    
  
“My Dad wanted to take me, but we never got the chance before I moved.” You confessed. There was a beat of silence on the end, which you put an end to by clearing your throat. You did not want him asking questions. You didn’t like thinking about  _ home.  _ _   
_ _   
_ “Are you working this weekend?” You asked instead.    
  
It was his turn to be silent.   
  
“No. Well, hopefully not. My next and last lecture of the week is tomorrow morning. Er, later this morning.” Will said.    
  
“So long as I don’t get any calls…” He trailed.   
  
You smiled at that.   
  
“We should go. I’ve wanted to get out of town for a day or two. You could show me a thing or two about fishing.” You offered, feeling a nip of anxiety. It was like asking a date out in high school. So simple, yet so stressful.    
  
He seemed to mull this over, and while it was likely only a few heartbeats, it felt much longer.    
  
“I'd like that.” He concluded. There was a note of hopefulness in his voice. Or so it seemed. You dared not raise your expectations.    
  
“Great! Great.” You failed to hide the excitement from your response.    
  
“Um, why don’t you call me tomorrow- er, later today? And we can work out the details?” You offered. You were biting your lip. The anticipation was building.    
  
“Okay.” His tone was soft.    
  
“I should let you sleep. This has been nice.” You hum. Your pulse had laxed as the two of you spoke. As if you had been given a comfort that was never offered before.    
  
“Right. Well, goodnight.” He returned.    
  
“Goodnight Will.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thanks for waiting, and sorry this chapter is so short. My uncle passed away along with one of my beloved pets, so writing on top of art commissions has been hard ;w;   
> As always, I appreciate everyone who hangs around for more. And thank you for the kind comments and kudos. Y'all keep me updating. <3


	9. Vista

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader and Will head out on their hike, though it seems fate has other thing sin store than just, heh, exercise.

  
When your eyes snap open again, it’s half past seven. Immediately you feel energized- the mere thought of actually having something fun to do fueling your limbs into action. You start with a shower- followed by a flurry of motion in the kitchen.   
  
Your fridge is recently stocked- and there is much to bring. You chop some seasonal fruits into a salad. Make a few croissant sandwiches with turkey and swiss. Throw together a little ensemble of cheese- ah, and drinks. A six pack will do, right?    
  
It’s as you’re carefully encompassing the meal into a backpack, that you feel your phone buzz.   
  
It’s Will.   
  
_ Morning, I’ll be there for nine _ _   
_ _   
_ He texts.   
  
A smile lights up your features for a moment. You steal a glance at the clock.   
About an hour to go.   
  
You set the bag aside.    
  
Wandering from kitchen to living room, you regard the small homey space. Last night had been filled with interesting conversation. He had told you a bit about his work. And a lot about his dogs. But more so- he asked about you.    
  
You shared what little there was.   
About the accident too.   
About moving.   
  
He was incredibly sympathetic to your story. Or perhaps, empathetic would be a better word. He seemed to understand exactly where you were coming from- as if from your own shoes. It was incredible. Humbling even?    
  
You considered this as you half heartedly tidied up the house. Waiting. Waiting sucked. You always felt like you weren’t allowed to relax until _ after _ an event.    
  
You were halfway through folding laundry when a knock shuttered the door. Your chin raised immediately. It was just after nine.    
  
Spying through the hole, you saw the simple figure of will. Wearing a close-fit sweater and jeans. Big boots. He was running a hand through his hair, watching the doorknob intently.    
  
You smiled.   
  
Cracking the door open, you tilted your head.    
  
“Hey. Right on time.” You grinned.    
  
He laughed.    
  
“Aheh, yeah. I may have circled the block once or twice.”    
  
You chuckled, gesturing inside.   
  
“Come on in, I just need to grab my bag- I made us lunch!” You hummed, tossing the phrase over your shoulder and you stepped away from the door.    
  
He mouthed a thanks, and you heard him step foot inside.   
  
When you returned he was just shy of the door, seemingly not having the courage to enter further. Or maybe not wanting to impose. He was inspecting some artwork on the wall. It was a painting you had taken with you when you moved. Of a deer, staring off into a darkened woods.    
  
It was beautiful, in an eerie way. Perhaps that was why you liked it so much.   
  
“Ready!” You chimed, bringing his attention back to you.   
  
You smiled, nodding once.   
  
“Lead the way.” You prompted, and he swiftly turned and exited. It was as you locked the door he piped up.   
“Er, do you mind if I bring the pack?” He asked. His voice faltered slightly.   
  
You smiled to yourself.   
  
“Not at all! I love dogs.”    
  
He seemed relieved.   
  
“Oh, good. They’re already in the truck.”   
  
With that he turned, approaching the vehicle in question.   
  
You could count more than four furry heads.    
Today would be fun.   
  
***   
  
The drive was mostly in silence, listening to the dull hum of the radio as you stroked the furry friend that had made their way onto your lap. Will seemed cheerful, his eyes darting from the road to the rear view. You suspected he was checking more so on his pups than anyone behind him. Occasionally they would meet yours- and he would smile, before returning his attention to the drive.   
  
You broke the silence first.   
  
“I’m sorry if this was short notice, by the way.” You hummed, keeping your eyes on the dog you pet. Was he a terrier mix? Must be.    
He had the short legs of a terrier.    
  
“Oh.” Will grunted.   
  
“I didn’t mind... Don’t mind.” He returned, casting you another look.    
  
“I find it a bit hard to tell if I’m pushing boundaries, sometimes.” You ventured.   
  
“Some people are so caught up in being accommodating, they don’t weigh their true feelings.” You went on, turning to look out the window on your right. It was fogging up thanks to the panting mouths. The trees were a blur of green.    
  
He chuckled, gripping the wheel tighter for a moment, before laxing.    
  
“I know that feeling all too well.” He returned after a beat.    
  
“Would you consider yourself that kind of person?” You asked in turn.   
He laughed again. Shaking his head now.   
  
“No.”   
  
“I don’t think I’m that kind of person.”   
  
You cocked an eyebrow.    
  
“That would entail me thinking all my decisions through. Thoroughly.”    
  
“You don’t?” You questioned.    
  
“Not this one.”   
  
You puckered your lips in a pout.    
  
“So you didn’t agonize over the thought of me last night?” You stated, mock hurt in your voice.    
  
His smile widened.   
  
“Nope. Didn’t need to.”   
  
The glance he shot you this time dripped with sincerity.    
The humble sweetness in his tone is disarming.    
  
You fuss with your hair, looking away.   
  
“Riiiight.” You hum, dripping with sarcasm. 

  
The remainder of the drive is a comfortable silence. And you arrive at your destination a little past ten. Pulling into an offshoot of the highway, you travel further along the growingly bumpy road. After a while it turns into a mere track of dirt, then to grass.    
  
Will pulls off here, unbuckling and reaching for his pack.   
  
“Do we need leashes?” You ask, holding the pup in your lap close.   
  
“Oh, no. They’re well trained.” He confirms, his tone casual but confident.   
  
“Alrighty.” You hum.    
  
Opening the door, there is a flurry of movement, as furry bodies pass you on their way out. You sling your pack onto your back, taking a moment to synch it into place before stretching. As you do so, Will rounds up his dogs, patting them each once before limbering up himself.    
  
“So, what’s so special about this trail?” You ask, reaching for your toes.    
  
Will grunts, doing the same. His cheeks redden with the effort.    
  
“Well- unf, there’s uh… A waterfall.”   
  
“A waterfall?” You reach for your other leg.   
  
“Mhm, and uhh, a nice cliff view. Erm, meadows…” He straightens, and you catch his gaze on your form. He looks away.   
  
“Sounds pretty. Shall we?’ You return.   
  
He merely nods.   
  
  
  
It’s not a hard trail by any means, but you can feel your legs beginning to burn. An hour in, and you’re one water bottle down, and looking forward to cracking open one of those beers.    
  
Another hour in and you’re beginning to feel worn out, though Will seems to be getting more excited with every step. It’s cute. He pauses every hundred feet or so to show you something. Mushrooms. Leaves. Animal tracks. He throws a stick or two. Offers water for the dogs.    
  
Another half hour and you reach the falls- a breathtaking vista. It’s over fifty feet tall you suspect. Cascading from a crack in the landscape, and spiraling down off stones smoothed from the constant ware. The spray from the bank causes a rainbow to glitter across the expanse- which you judge to be about six feet wide.    
  
It’s gorgeous.    
You take a picture, as Will stands off to the side.   
  
“Will, c’mere. Let’s take a picture!” You add, turning your back to the vista.   
  
“I don’t- uhh.” You beckon him, and he relents, standing stiffly at your side. Nervously.   
  
“You’re out of frame, come on!” You grab his sleeve, pulling him into your side.    
  
He’s warm. You snap an image- capturing the two of you. Red cheeked and sweaty. But happy.    
  
Afterwards you regard the falls again, still standing close. You bite your lip, debating whether or not to hold his hand. You opt for the squeeze and run instead.   
  
Lacing your fingers with his, you give his palm a squeeze, before tugging him back towards the trails.   
  
“Let’s keep at it! I want to get to the meadows by lunch!” You hum, dragging him along.    
  
And so you head on.   
  
The waterfalls are gorgeous, but the meadow is something else. It’s another hour or so before you arrive- but it’s worth every moment. From here you can see the entirety of the hillside- mist closely shrouding the peaks of the trees. The birdsong is beautiful, and the winds rocks the leaves, making the whole expanse look akin to a rippling sea of veridian.    
  
Between it all snakes a silver-blue stream, which is fed by the hungry torrent that is the falls. The sky is dotted with fluffy clouds.    
  
“Will, this is stunning!” You sigh, breathlessly.    
  
He smiles, looking at you for a long moment. Only glancing away when you look at him in turn.    
  
“I really appreciate you taking me here. It’s wonderful.” You go on, taking both his hands in yours. You pull him into a hug, which he accepts- though stiffly. His voice is a nervous chuckle.    
  
“It uh… I’m happy to share it.” He amends.   
  
You take a step back.   
  
“I’m _ starving.  _ Lets eat, yeah? _ ” _ You go on, crouching as you rifle through your bag.    
  
“Shit. I forgot to pack a blanket.” You grunt, realizing your mistake with a png of regret..    
  
“Oh, no worries, here.” Will unzips his jacket, spreading it out on the grass. Around you the dogs race, frolicking through the grass- and chasing one another to and fro.    
  
“Thanks! Ever the innovator.” You grin, before setting out the tupperware. Will busies himself making a water station for the dogs. Always the pups first.    
  
It’s sweet.   
  
You serve up lunch, legs crossed and sitting across from one another.    
  
“This is delicious.” Will comments, through a mouthful of sandwich. You merely smile in turn, awkwardly pulling a whole slice of meat as you do so. It slaps against your chin with an audible noise, before dropping into your lap, and being promptly eaten by your new little canine friend.    
  
“Ah, shit.” The two of you laugh.    
  
“You have mustard on your face.” He laughs. You’re surprised when he reaches out, and thumbs it away.    
  
“Gross, I’m sweaty.” You laugh, pushing the touch away.    
  
_ “You’re _ sweaty?” he gestures to the round wet stains under either arm.    
  
You burst into laughter, falling back into the grass. He leans down beside you, chuckling softly. You regard him for a long moment. The long lashes. Soft curls. Stormy blue eyes. He catches you staring, but doesn’t look away.    
  
Tentatively, you raise a hand, brushing the damp curls that obscure his forehead aside. His skin is warm and smooth. Your touch traces down one cheek, pausing at the edge of his jawline. His lips look chapped.    
  
You break the contact, realizing suddenly how far you had gone. You sit up suddenly, embarrassed. Quickly you drag your bag over, digging around in it for a moment.    
  
“Uh, ahah, here. Your lips are chapped.” You state, grasping and offering a tube of chapstick.    
  
He doesn’t take it, instead simply sitting up, his head tilting slightly.   
  
“I don’t think you’re pushing boundaries.” He says quietly. Repeating your words to you. Your jaw parts in protest, as you struggle to think of an excuse.    
  
Will closes the distance between the pair of you swiftly, one calloused hand carefully raising your chin to meet his. The gesture is surprisingly soft.    
  
You allow yourself to be guided, leaning forward slightly. Feeling yourself being drawn in. The kiss deepens, a bit rougher now. He breaks away for a moment, only long enough to pull you into his lap and off the grass you had strayed to.    
  
You certainly don’t complain; you find one hand knotting into the back of his hair, locking up with curls. The other is braced against his shoulder. His hand holds the small of your back. His lips graze your jawline, your neck.    
  
You are eager to push things, but you follow his lead instead. It’s as his grasp tentatively thumbs the edge of your jeans that you are interrupted.    
  
One of the dogs has returned, something clutched firmly in his jaws. He is excited- and drops it in front of you to be thrown.    
  
It’s… an arm. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! as always, thanks for your patience, and for reading! I'm hoping to have the next chapter or two up within a few days, so hang in there for more!  
> additionally, feel free to drop a follow or shoot me a message on my social media!
> 
> Twitter- Cryptidoclock  
> Instagram- ClockworkCryptid 
> 
> Thanks! <3


	10. Homemaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleepover baby!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! as always, thanks for your patience, and for reading! I'm hoping to have the next chapter or two up within a few days, so hang in there for more!  
> additionally, feel free to drop a follow or shoot me a message on my social media!
> 
> Twitter- Cryptidoclock  
> Instagram- ClockworkCryptid
> 
> Thanks! <3

_ It’s… an arm. _   
  
Turning, he follows your gaze- leaping to his feet in an instant. He stumbles over your pack in the motion, sending what remained of the picnic scattering throughout the grass.    
  
“No, drop it! Now!” He’s chiding, racing after his dog. You immediately stand up after him, corralling the canine towards him until he can finally retrieve the body part.    
  
“S-Stay here.” He states. First to the growing pack of dogs, then, again to you. Wordlessly, he retreats into the treeline, and you’re left to stare after him, clutching the smallest of the pack to your chest.    
  
It’s a good half hour before he returns; depositing his dogs one by one until everyone is back. You’re left sitting on his jacket, having finished packing back up a good twenty minutes ago. There’s an anxiety in your stomach. A sick sensation of shock and dread.    
  
“Looks like work isn’t finished after all.” He grunts- his face is pale. Sweat dampens his collar.    
  
“The team should be here in a couple minutes. I-” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.    
  
“I’m sorry. This is a mess.” He shakes his head once, regarding the dogs. They’re perspective of his stress, nuzzling under his palms, leaning into his side.   
  
“Will. You could have never guessed something like this would have happened.” You console, placing a hand tentatively on his shoulder. He doesn’t move away, but you can sense the unsureness.    
  
You give it a squeeze.    
  
“I can take the dogs home if you want. Just need an address.” You offer in turn, glancing back towards the trail.   
  
“I can’t ask you to do that.” He returns. You’re already shaking your head.   
  
“Besides, they’re not going to let  _ you _ leave until you’ve dealt with... Er...” You gesture to the scene as a whole. “This.”   
  
His gaze is far away, but he nods, rubbing his face in its entirety.    
  
You wait with him until half past two, when his squad does in fact arrive. On quads no less, with ample supplies in hand. It’s as they begin fanning out, that you find a woman approaching.   
  
She’s pretty, with long and sleek black hair. A rounded face and almond eyes. Her lips are quirked up in a smile.    
  
“Lovely day for a hike.” She states, holding what appeared to be a bundle of leashes in hand.    
  
“It was.” Will sighs, taking the leads from her. He begins fastening them onto the dogs one by one.    
  
“Beverly. Beverly Katz.” She continues, offering a hand to you. You shake it in turn, smiling politely back.    
  
“Seems like you’ve got quite the day ahead of you. I should leave you to it.” You hum, taking the leads from Will.    
  
“Do you need me to make a statement or anything? I can hang around if you need me to.” You offer, but Will shakes his head.   
  
“I can tell them all they need to know. Don’t worry about it.”    
  
You nod, turning to your things.    
  
The pack slides on in one easy motion, though your legs protest the added weight.    
“Here.” Will adds, handing off the keys to his truck. He runs through the address once more and you nod, knowing the area well enough.   
  
“Thanks. Take care Will. Let me know if you want me to swing by and pick you up.” You add, stuffing the keys in the pocket of your jeans.    
  
“Don’t worry about it. I can take him. You should get some rest. This must have been quite a shock.” Beverly offers, patting your arm.    
  
You let out a strained laugh.   
  
“You could say that.” You return.   
  
For a moment she regards you. Before turning to Will. There’s a knowing glance exchanged, before she turns, waving a good-bye.    
  
You’re grateful to be left alone.    
  
Before anyone else can approach, you slip in for a quick hug, squeezing Will to your chest for a brief moment.    
  
“Take care. I’ll call you when I get there.” You state, before stepping out of reach once more.   
  
You can feel his eyes on you as you go.   
  
***   
  
The trek back is slow. You’re tired. Sweaty. And more than a little put off.   
Save for the first half hour, you see no further figures. You suspect the trail has been closed. Had it not been for the dogs, you would have assumed they would have escorted you back as well.    
  
Maybe Will had talked them out of it.   
Who knows.   
  
You reach the truck around four, loading the dogs up after a brief water break. It takes some time to adjust the seat, but before long you’re on your way.    
  
The ride is quiet, passing as you find yourself lost thoroughly in thought.    
  
It’s five when you get to Will’s home. A quaint place a fair distance into Wolftrap. It’s a homey acreage, with a creaking screen door that reminds you of your parents place. The dogs seem glad to be home too, each finding their way to a different pillow or cushion. There’s plenty spread about the living room.   
  
Peeling off the layers, you spread out on the couch- phone in hand. Will’s cell goes to voicemail. You keep it short.    
  
“Hey, we made it back safe. Let me know when you think you’ll be home. I uh, I guess I’ll kick it around here until you’re done. Be careful.” You hang up.    
  
  
***   
  
It’s after ten when Will finally does come back.    
  
You don’t hear the car approach- no, the acreage is as silent as a ghost.   
But you do hear the cacophony of barking that erupts as the dogs swarm the door.    
  
You’re rubbing sleep from your eyes as Will finally enters, tossing his coat and bag aside. At first he doesn’t seem to realize you’re there, instead bending to pet his pack.    
  
“That took a while.” You state, your voice still a bit groggy with sleep. He jumps at this, fixing you with wide eyes before seeming to suddenly recall why you’re there.    
  
“I-Yeah, sorry. Uh, shit. Do you want me to drive you home?” He asks, sanding up once more. He’s already reaching for his coat.   
  
“Honestly, I just want to sleep. D’you mind if I stay the night?” You ask.    
  
Your own boldness surprises you. But Will looks like he needs a friend. And you really aren’t feeling another forty minute drive. You don’t even want to get up. Your legs feel like led.    
  
He blinks back at you, letting the coat slowly drop from his hands.    
  
“Oh, uh. Sure, yeah. Of course.” He says.   
  
“Awesome. You hungry?” You ask, forcing yourself up once more.    
  
“I made some stew earlier.” You continue, limping into the kitchen. Being alone all afternoon- it had been one of the many things you started to keep busy. Including tidying up, catching up on dishes, and organizing what seemed to need it.    
  
“Sure.” He grunts after a moment. Shadowing you forlornly into the kitchen.    
  
“I thought it would be weird driving your truck back to my house. And I didn’t bring my wallet. I would have hated running out of gas-” You begin.    
  
Will chuckles.    
  
“You don’t have to explain it. It’s fine. I appreciate it. This place needed, uh,” He pauses, looking around at the newly organized space.    
  
“Some help.” He hums.    
  
“I’ve been so busy it’s kinda spiraled. So thanks.” He finished.    
  
You hand him off a bowl of stew, before ladeling one for yourself.    
  
It’s a bit more, uh, rustic than you preferred; but it would do the trick of filling bellies.    
  
His face is gaunt, there’s circles forming under his eyes. The stormy gaze seems to look right through you. You can sense he’s thinking about something.    
  
“You alright?” You ask, leaning on the countertop.    
  
He doesn’t reply until you ask a second time, snapping back into reality.    
  
“Er, yeah. Sorry. Just got my mind on other things.” He sighs.   
  
You cock your head to the side. Prompting him to go on.   
  
“This is the second case in six months that mimics serial killer behavior. First there’s the whole “Virginia Werewolf” thing, and now this. I haven’t felt this stressed since the Chesapeake Ripper was last active.” He rubs his eyes as he says this, his body tense and stiff.    
  
“The Chesawho?” You question.   
  
“Uh, The Ripper. A killer who hunts in sets of threes- surgically mutilating his victims and removing their organs. He then poses them in various, heh, theatrical ways.” Will concludes, resuming his eating.    
  
“Oh.” You say simply. The names don’t ring any bells, though they do offer a stab of curiosity. You push it away. Something to look up at a later date. Will didn’t need that now.    
  
A bit put off, you set your bowl to the side- woefully half eaten.    
  
He finishes eating in silence too, before giving you a sheepish nod and taking your dish.    
  
Seemed to be a sensitive topic.    
  
Watching him for a moment, you leaned against the counter. His shoulders dropped low, the movements of his muscles were sluggish and stiff. He seemed downright exhausted.    
  
You were too.   
  
“If you don’t mind, I’m gonna hit the couch. You should get some sleep too, Will.” Your hand lingers at your side for a moment, before raising to his face as he turns. Your thumb caresses his cheek for a mere moment- tracing his stubble jawline- before you let it drop.    
  
“Sure, right. I-I’ll get you some bedding.” He stutters, before quickly making his way around you.    
You’re already asleep when he returns.    
  
It’s thanks to this you miss him gently tucking a pillow beneath your head. That you miss the comforter from his own bed pulled up over your shoulders. That you miss the soft kiss he presses to the top of your head.    
  
You sleep well.


End file.
